Page 8 of Hungry Like a Wolf
Carmel turned to the church door. It was flung open and Orm stood there, his hands on his hips and his frame in silhouette.
“What?” She frowned at him.
“We are going to the beach. Our fallen warrior friend Egil is to be sent out to sea right now.”
“May God bless his soul.” Olaf crossed himself and sent his eyes heavenward.
“What are you doing?” she said to the old man. “He was a heathen and a murderer.”
“He died defending Tillicoulty and the good men, women, and children who live here. Egil deserves God’s mercy and eternal salvation.”
She huffed and pushed past him, making her way down the aisle in her strange, frustrating shuffle.
“Take these off,” she said, kicking her left leg up to shake her bonds. “How can I walk to the beach?” She glared at Orm. He’d covered the top half of his face entirely in black soot that made him look even more demonic.
He grinned. “Did you pray for them to come off?”
“Well… I… No… But I had other things to pray for, like you dropping dead.”
He laughed, showing big, white teeth that matched the whites of his eyes. “Well, I will be dead one day, so that prayer will be answered, but if you did not pray for your chains to begone, then how can it happen? That is how your god works, right?”
“You have no idea.” She pursed her lips.
“Come. I will carry you.”
“No… Get off… I…”
But instead of throwing her over his shoulder, this time, he scooped her into his arms and she had no choice but to cling to his shoulder with one hand and wrap her arm around his neck.
Being so close to him was repulsive. He smelled of leather and soap and perhaps rosemary too.
A procession was heading toward the beach and they joined it. A lone gull called mournfully overhead and the briny scent of the ocean caught on a stiff breeze.
Haakon and his wife walked hand in hand, her scarlet gown long and made of quality material. His fur was thick and sumptuous and his hair braided tightly down the back of his head.
Beside them stood another couple, both with hair the color of the brightest orange sunset. He leaned to speak to her as they walked, his hand touching the small of her back. Carmel recognized him as the tall man she’d made good aim at with her spear and her as the woman who had been itching to kill her when she’d first been captured.
Perhaps she’d have been better off if she were dead rather than here.
As they walked along the small path through the dunes, wispy grass bending in the wind, she saw the horizon was heavy with blackening clouds. There’d be snow soon, she was sure of it, and the churned earth of the battlefield would freeze.
A small pier led out to sea, the waves frothing and fizzing against its timber supports. On the left of it were two small fishing boats anchored with thick rope. On the right was awooden raft piled high with dry wood. Atop it a body, Egil, and around him furs, mistletoe sprigs and armor set out neatly.
“What is that?” she asked Orm when he set her down on the beach.
“A burial pyre. Egil will need those things in his next life. His armor, his cloak and arm ring, his tankard for supping with the gods in the Great Hall.”
“It will all be burned?”
“Ja, the flames will take it with him to Valhalla.” His hair lifted on the wind. “Sit. Sit beside me.” He dropped to the ground and folded his legs, picking up two sticks. He banged on a skin drum, quickly setting up a rhythm that vibrated through her like a heartbeat.
A gust of wind pressed her cape to her legs and nipped her cheeks. She sat, taking some shelter from his body. Kenna, the queen, lit iron baskets along the pier and they burst to life, adding color to the gray sky.
The crowd huddled closer, their faces somber, as Haakon lifted the flaming torch.
“Good people of Tillicoulty, today we honor our dead. Those in the churchyard and those, like Egil son of Daneson of Drangar, who take a different route to their eternal life.” He paused and surveyed the villagers. “To die in battle is to die with honor. It is to die leaving a legacy on Earth that your memory will never fade. To die for a cause, a belief, is to die for a reason and there is no greater reason that freedom.” He shouted the last word.
A cheer went up.
